


like a rose when blooming

by botticellis (itomorian)



Series: boys over flowers (multi-fandom) (kinda) [4]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Ceaseless Pining, Fantasy elements, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, Non-explicit major character death, Vomiting, an attempt was made, take this as u will, up to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itomorian/pseuds/botticellis
Summary: "lay me to rest where we first met."~where renjun is the huang crown prince who finds his closest friend, advisor, and confidant in a kitchen boy; jaemin is the servant from the kitchens who finds friendship, familiarity, and love in the crown prince.all it takes is a secret garden on a lonely night, and sometimes, we all find the most unlikely of things at the most unlikely of places.~//title from magic shop by bts~
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Series: boys over flowers (multi-fandom) (kinda) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1212777
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41
Collections: Kingdom Come Round One





	like a rose when blooming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImJaebabie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJaebabie/gifts).



> wen d!! thank u for always being so nice <3 n also that it's coz of u (and ur renmin tweet) that i could figure out which ship to write this for <3 (it might not sound like a big deal but i was in a terrible mental state back then, n writing this fic has helped me a lot thru that time, thank u) <33 n also for writing jeno and hide that i love with my whole heart <3
> 
> this may not make a lot of sense but this has been my emotional support fic for 3 months, and i love it very much.
> 
>  **cw, tw** // illness, blood, vomiting, death
> 
> if mcd/blood/vomiting triggers you, pls skip this fic and take care of yourself! if you do choose to read this regardless, pls exercise caution. 🍀
> 
> (i hope you enjoy reading this)
> 
> special thanks also to my best baby [jmnscheeks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmnscheeks) for beta-ing this @ an ungodly hour of the night/morning. i love you. ❤

_First loves aren’t ever fulfilled._

Once upon a time, Jaemin had heard that first loves aren’t meant to be fulfilled. 

He can no longer remember that person’s voice. But he remembers how they sounded. 

Not bitter. 

Not resentful. 

He remembers the harrowing loss in that voice as if he can still hear it, sitting in a secret garden, sniffling with his head tucked in between his knees, praying that someone would notice his absence and come to get him out of there.

_“First loves aren’t ever fulfilled, little flower. They wouldn’t be first loves if they did.”_

🌸

Jaemin scrubs the plates diligently — true to his nightly routine every day at the palace — while his brothers clean up the kitchen. Jeno is wiping the washed plates dry and keeping them in their places, while Jisung is bringing in more used utensils from the dining hall. 

The cooks are preparing the royal family’s nightly teas, and the kitchen smells like chamomile. Jaemin likes the smell. Not only because he has been working in the kitchens ever since he— well— ever since he learned to do anything at all, but also because chamomile means that he gets to see his favourite prince and bring him tea.

Jaemin quickly finishes washing the rest of the plates and lets Jeno and Jisung take over the task of washing whatever is left, while he goes and stands in wait for the tea to be poured in separate sets for each individual member of the royal family.

Each member of the Huangs has a different tea-server, and it was purely by chance that Jaemin was assigned to be the one for Renjun. And the rest, as it is said, is history. Jaemin and Prince Renjun, as they grew up together, side by side, grew up to be close companions. _Almost_ , friends.

Well, Jaemin would like to think of them as friends, but he knows that princes aren’t allowed to get cozy with lowly kitchen boys (not now, not ever). Maybe in some other universe they are, friends, that is. And he likes to think that there is another universe. 

That there is another world where they get to be friends. 

Another version of this life. 

One where they get to be the closest of friends, to spend time with each other, and to show affection to each other; without it being forbidden, without the people hating them for it. Where there are no titles of prince and servant to differentiate them, no rules of royalty that forbid. 

It’s hard not to let his excitement show, to not bounce on the balls of his feet. Renjun makes him happy. He’s a study in light, warmth, and honey. He's the bone deep serenity from chamomile tea. 

The girls smile at Jaemin like they are his own sisters, and maybe in a way they are. They are the ones who saw him and his brothers grow up, too. They smile at their workmates and help them each with a cart for the tea, arranging the kettle and the cups elegantly.

After years and years of experience, it does not take too long before the utensils on top of the tea-cart look like they've been painted to perfection, and the tea-servers set on their merry way.

Jaemin makes small talk with his fellow servants as they walk to their destinations. Dejun tells him about the flower-seeds that he bought from the market for the Queen's garden, Yangyang tells him about all the books he helped the librarian sort earlier today. Jaemin listens, tells them about how he spent his day.

The three of them part their ways soon enough as they roll their tea-trolleys each into the respective royal chambers, and the moment Jaemin sees Renjun, his chest comes alive, filled with fluttering like the wings of butterflies.

He nods at the guards holding the door open for him, smiling as he pushes the cart inside. He does not wait for their reactions in return; for in his eyes, before him, is the one and only person who will ever occupy his attention.

The crown prince stands by his open window, the silk of his night-clothes scattering the moonlight into the chamber, bouncing off his body, illuminating his skin in the otherwise dimness of the room in a way that makes him look like the moon. 

_How fitting_ , muses Jaemin. 

_Renjun, who brings light into the world_ , in every sense of essence.

At the sound of the door opening, Jaemin watches Renjun turning his head in his direction with a fond grin curving his mouth, which he covers up almost instantly, wanting the guards not to see. Jaemin understands, Renjun _must_ be cautious.

Jaemin makes his way further inside the room as the doors behind him shut close, and stops pushing the cart as he nears the bed. He feels Renjun's eyes on him, but he does not say a word, focusing instead on pouring his tea for him.

It is a quiet affair for the most part, save for the sound of nature and a man-built palace around them, the trickling of the liquid being poured into a cup. 

The fragrance of the warm tea flits into the room on light feet, softly caressing their faces on its way around the walls. Once the cup is full, the sound of the flow of liquid stops abrupt — definite and anticlimactic at the same time.

Jaemin offers the cup to him which Renjun accepts, thanking him quietly in a murmur of sweetness. Jaemin sits in wait, patient and silent, looking at his lap while Renjun drinks the tea.

Once the contents of the cup are gone, Renjun hands the cup back to Jaemin. It's a little ( _very_ ) inappropriate, and oddly familiar. After all that has been said and done, aren't he and the Prince… _close,_ if nothing more?

Remembering something he almost forgot, Jaemin searches his clothes for the little package he hid there, stolen from the kitchen. 

Well, it's not so much stolen as it is lied about. _Can I have one more sweet?_ Jaemin had asked the girls. They'd grinned and given him two more, because Jaemin's soft spot for the prince has never been a secret. There's only so long until it reaches The Queen.

"My Prince," whispers Jaemin, presenting the sweets wrapped in muslin.

The doors are shut now, the room is fairly dark save for the moonlight through the window. Renjun smiles and picks up a piece of the sweet, and looks behind Jaemin once again, cautious.

When he's satisfied, he bites into the sugary dish and takes his time with it. Jaemin looks at him eat, feeling like this is something that he doesn't deserve to see. That Renjun is a celestial God, and only the pure of heart are allowed to witness his being.

Jaemin is not pure of heart.

If he was, he wouldn't wish for Renjun to see him the way princes shouldn't see their servants. Jaemin lowers his eyes to look at the floor.

"Will you not eat?" Asks the prince and Jaemin's ears find heaven. He looks at Renjun, meets his eyes for a moment that is gone too soon. 

"I did eat, My Prince." Jaemin smiles, meets his eyes again. This is something that feels forbidden. It _is_ forbidden in a way. _Princes should have nothing to do with servants_ , and yet here they are.

Renjun does not look happy with Jaemin's answer, so he crosses the distances of a few paces between them, lightning and molasses all at once.

Renjun's fingertips hooked under Jaemin's chin are featherlike and forbidden. Jaemin follows the motion of Renjun's hand and raises his chin, eventually looking at him.

At the meeting of their eyes, the prince looks satisfied.

"You wouldn't lie to me." Renjun looks at him, through him, coaxing and imploring. His eyes twinkle with the calmness of his destructive fire, but Jaemin would never be scared. Not of him.

At least, not enough to not lie.

"There are a lot of things I would do but lie to you." Jaemin does the very thing he says he wouldn't. He tries not to regret doing it in the same breath. But that is the way of things, he supposes.

That this is where love gives.

The Prince's eyes harden—miniscule and minute, ring of silver glowing around his pupil—gone as fast as it ever appeared. Jaemin would almost think it was a dream, would almost miss it were it in broad daylight, were it not for him looking into his eyes.

As if only now remembering who and where he is, the Prince retracts his hand from his way. Fast as if the touch burned him, as if he isn't the one who has it in him to burn everything.

"Eat," says The Prince as he breaks off the dessert into two, holding one piece to Jaemin's lips, not quite touching but almost. Whispering something that flows only from skin to skin.

The way his lips close around the sweet just a hairbreadth away from the crown prince's fingers would get him beheaded were it in polite company. This is _not_ meant for polite company.

Renjun beams, so much different from how he has to be. The ring of silver flashes bright and leaves. His lips remind Jaemin of the sun when it just rises, pink and red. Of gossamer and opulence. 

It is everything Jaemin must dare not touch.

Jaemin never remembers what they talk about. Jeno teases him all the time for being too lost in people's eyes. But people are different. _Renjun_ is different.

When at night he bathes and settles into bed, on one end of the mattress with Jisung in the middle and Jeno on the other side, sleep is quick to come. He presses a kiss each on his brothers' foreheads, receives one to his cheeks in return.

Jeno is always more open to giving affection, and to asking for it. Jisung is shy, even with the ones he shared a womb with. Jeno leans over Jisung to kiss Jaemin's forehead, and Jisung whines about being squished under the two of them.

Jaemin and Jeno laugh and tickle Jisung into holding them both tightly and close, even if it is so he can put a stop to their play. 

The two brothers on the sides snuggle into their youngest and it's warm, warm, warm.

"Good night, my blossoms." Whispers Jisung, soft into the night. The candles have long been out and their room is cast in the platinum radiance of the moon. Their shy brother's voice is a lullaby, his little laughs enough to bring peace to the two lying by his sides.

"I love you more than anything." Jeno tells them, so loving and truthful. And he does. After the passing away of the ones that birthed them, all that the three brothers have ever had in this palace is each other. Jeno has always been the eldest, undisputed even though it was so by merely breaths.

"You're my everything." Jaemin tells the two other parts that make up the whole of their unitary soul. It's nothing if not true from the deepest embers of the dying sun, to the last vestiges of his ability to adore. 

Warmth settles over their bond with every word of murmured affection in a steady rhythm beating _yours mine, ours_ , as it does every night. When Jaemin finally lets the blissful unconsciousness take over him, he dreams of red. Of love and of death. 

He soars and reaches the highest of the skies, and watches as lightning strikes the ground where he once lied.

🌸

There comes the first petal.

The colour reminds him of the Queen's robes and the varnish on her lips. It reminds him of the flowers he saw long, long ago. Lost in a secret garden that he forgets to remember any more.

He wakes up to the velvety petal caught between his lips and snickers, because how could a petal come inside his room and get stuck in his mouth of all things?

He laughs it away and gets to work.

Over the next days and weeks and months, Jaemin wakes up to flower petals in his mouth. He wakes up to more and more of those.

Sometimes it is peaceful. Morning as the ones where he wakes up to petals on his pillow, drool stuck to the corner of his mouth. Sometimes, not so much, when he has to run to the backyard as the petals turn his guts out.

Life carries on. One day he visits the marketplace, and sees the flowers like the ones he tastes, every morning, in his sleep, every night, and even in his dreams.

He buys enough seeds to rival the lost prince's rose bed.

The flowers bloom beautifully. _Red, red, red_. He tells Renjun about those. Tells him 'My Prince, I hope you do not mind that I planted you a bed of flowers that are redder than any you have ever seen.'

Renjun laughs and tells him that he loves the way it looks every time the sun rises, and every time it sets. Tells him that it is okay for this bed to be brighter than the roses for his brother.

_"We will never love him less, his roses will always stay with us."_

Jaemin wonders if this love is any different.

Renjun gifts him a bed of the same flowers, only these come with striped petals, a silent confession of all that he cannot say.

🌸

The only thing that is always unchanging and somehow still evolving is Renjun.

Jaemin tells him all that he knows of. Often he doesn't have to. The Prince knows everything. Jaemin thinks it's funny how Renjun knows everything about him without him having to open his mouth once, but he remains blissfully unaware of Jaemin's flowers.

He goes to the healer. 

She listens to him and gathers him in her arms. Jaemin wonders what must be so gut-wrenching about him throwing up flowers, but something about the way she looks at him makes him think he might just be better off knowing less.

"Child, have you ever loved someone?" She asks, a woman not too older than the Queen. Perhaps even younger. Her hair is long and lies flowy, even in a thick braid, swaying and swishing with the wind as if it possesses a mind of its own.

Jaemin thinks about her words. 

_Have you ever loved someone?_

When he thinks of loving someone, the first thought to grace his closed eyes is that of his brothers. His beautiful Jeno and Jisung. The ones that he would protect with all his life. The ones for whom he would give it up, too.

He thinks of Jeno who works tirelessly, never once complaining and always giving them smiles. He thinks about his messy hair that falls in soft waves and covers his forehead, almost down his eyes. He thinks about his big eyes that hold the night sky.

He thinks of their Jisung who may be their youngest, but stands the tallest. He thinks about his soft, straight hair that falls past his eyes. He thinks about his abashed, affectionate smiles. He thinks about his cheeks puffing in frustration, and how every time that Jaemin tells him he loves him, he gets so shy. 

"You're not asking what I'm thinking about," He says and watches the healer smile like a mother would at their child. It tells him that he got it right.

"Those that you'd give the world to don't often have to be the ones you'd bloom gardens for." She says and then strokes the side of Jaemin's head. Jaemin sits stunned, perched on a chair in the healer's hut, wondering why he never saw it coming.

Renjun.

He spares but one thought for the prince. _I might not give you the world but I gave you my bed of red._

"Do you know what flowers these are, my lady?" He asks her, picking up one of his petals.

"Yes." She nods. The petal in his hand is red, red, red.

"Do they have a name?" He asks. Twists and twirls the lone petal between his fingers. The healer looks at his face, and then at his fingers. She looks for a while.

"Not yet." She murmurs, the wind carries her voice away. "It's not our place, nor its time." Jaemin does not understand what that means, but he does not question it either.

"What do they mean?" He asks as his eyes trail around the hut. The walls are covered with creeping leaves, and flowers stuck as perpetual blossoms. There are shelves lined up on the wall made of bamboo. There are small jars arranged neatly on top of them that Jaemin only wishes he could see through.

"How do you feel?" She asks with a smile that looks less like she hurts too, and Jaemin sits vexed. What should he say? What should he do?

"Like my heart aches for him." He tells her the truth. Then he laughs and the sound is as mirthful as it is sardonic and despondent. The healer smiles in a manner similar.

"Then that is what they will mean forever." She tells him as she picks up one of the petals Jaemin brought her, the tips of her finger casting light into it.

The petal glows, comes back to life, forms a flower on it's own. It is the same as the ones he planted for the Prince, red, and beautiful, and it won't die so soon.

_Unlike you._

"I should prepare my last farewells." He smiles. A tear rolls down his face. More follow. This is where love gives, doesn't it? In the face of the end, in the face of the purest of things. 

In the face of a boy who deserves to live.

"I'm sorry my child, but try as I might, there are some things I can never influence." She apologizes, voice hardened after years and years of blind hope and watching people fade into oblivion. 

Jaemin feels nothing and everything at once. He toys with the flower some more. He wants to say a lot, ask a lot, but he does not make a sound.

_Will your feeling sorry save me?_

_Will your apologizing save my soulmates from losing a part of them?_

Jaemin stands, smiles. Thanks her and walks away.

🌸

Renjun's coronation comes and goes.

It is just as big an affair as it is supposed to be, with delegates coming in from far and wide. Feasts and Entertainment, mingling and dancing. He tries to enjoy it but to Jaemin, time is so, so fickle, if nothing.

He spends every waking moment with his soulmates, and every moment asleep. Jeno and Jisung worry and rightly so, especially when they hear him muffle his coughing.

They ask questions that Jaemin avoids answering.

Renjun is King now. Betrothed to a beautiful princess from the North, her beauty and grace being the sort you hear about only in old myths and fantasy. 

Jaemin only sees her once, and he knows that for Renjun there will be no one better. The princess is kind, just the way all royalty are. She talks with a voice that is made of autumn and spring and makes new leaves sprout from long dead trees.

She could bloom him a forest of green.

For the first time in years and years, he gives his tea duties to someone else. Chenle is confused, but he accepts the task without question. He smiles like sunshine and nods happily before walking away.

Jaemin wonders if it is Chenle's deeply ingrained sense of servitude or Jaemin's sunken face.

Whatever it is, it gets the work done.

Jaemin rests more now. The petals slow down a little. Breathing is a little easier. The colour begins to return to his face that it had once left.

He sleeps in the middle now, for his soulmates won't let him sleep anywhere but. They hold on to him a little bit tighter, a whole lot desperate. If all three of them cry at some moment in the dark, dark, dark night, the moon keeps their secret.

"You will never leave us, will you, Nana?" Jeno asks him one night, his face nestled into the crook of Jaemin's neck. He lips press to his brother's skin. Jaemin runs his fingers through his hair.

"Not if you don't forget me." He promises, mustering up all the hope and faith that still stays, hiding somewhere inside his ribs, scared and suppressed beneath flowers in red.

A long silence follows. The air Jisung inhales is teary.

"Don't say that." He whispers, and hugs Jaemin closer. Closer and closer till his arm wraps around Jeno as well. Jaemin turns on his side to face their youngest, heart hurting when he sees him glassy-eyed.

His tears fall. Jaemin wipes them away.

Every breath Jisung takes is broken with tears, and sorrow, and love. Jaemin and Jeno manoeuvre themselves in a manner such that Jisung ends up laying in between them again, after what feels like so long of him not sleeping in between.

They hold their youngest in their arms for as long as he cries, that goes on until the moon in the sky stands high. Jeno sheds his tears, Jaemin refuses to. More than refusal, it is defeat.

He knows that once he starts, he won't stop.

He will not do that to his brothers.

"You won't forget me. Not now, not ever." Jaemin promises, wrapping his arms around both parts of his heart. "Tell me how would you cease to remember a part of your soul?" 

The night bestirs into a morning full of a beaming sun, as all of them must. The triune wakes with dried tears star-trailing their faces, and Jaemin comes to with a flower. It's beautiful, it's so bright, Jaemin would love it were it not for these that he is going to die.

He crushes the florescence in his palm, feels it bleed between his fingers, watches his hands stain red, red, red. _Blood, blood, blood_. He washes it away before anybody sees. 

He washes his hands far too frequently, lately.

When he goes to work after a long, long time of absence (it isn't more than a fortnight, but it feels much longer), he means to extend his final goodbyes, because he knows that for him there isn't much more time. No one has to be told. They know him closely enough to know.

He walks into the kitchen to a plate set, full of his favorite sweets, a cup with some wine, and one with barely two draughts of chamomile tea. He laughs at the sight of _breakfast_ and thanks this small family of theirs for caring.

For loving him and his soulmates like their own.

There are tears, and laughs and giggles and happiness in the palace's kitchen. They make merry without any occasion and it is the giddiest perhaps all of them have been in a while.

It all comes to an end. It always does.

Once work begins proper and prim, Chenle brings word that the King has asked for Jaemin. Jaemin frowns in uncertainty before he leaves the minuscule amount of work that he is allowed to touch, and walks where he is led.

He follows Chenle to the garden in the back of the palace, does not utter a word when the boy leaves him alone with the King. Renjun takes one look at him and begins walking. Jaemin does not need to ask to know where they happen to be going.

Passing through several moon gates and forking paths, they finally make it to the secret garden. Jaemin sees an ocean of his flowers bloom just for him, they turn to him like he is their sun.

There are long, long moments of silence. The birds chirp all the same, the insects go on about their day. Jaemin kneels to his flowers and runs his fingers through them, caressing the perianths on their way. 

He whispers of love to them with unmoving lips, and hopes they hear all that he wishes to convey.

"Why did you stray?" Asks the King. Jaemin stops to look at him.

When he meets his eyes, he sees emotions flash by that he cannot name. The rings of silver around his pupils now cover most of his iris. The clear sky above them sees storm clouds in grey.

"I do not think I understand, My King." He chooses to lie. It is always easier to. The King's eyes flash with annoyance, but the silver is gone before it could stay.

"Since _when_ am I your _King_?" He asks with a voice of metal. Jaemin wonders what he goes through, so young on the throne. Unexpected and alone.

"I'm afraid I do not understand, Your Highness." Perhaps he toys with him a little. There are a lot of things he will never get to live, so he wants to toe the lines just a little bit.

Renjun looks at him, and his smile. Jaemin waits for him to realise what he is doing to him, but gets surprised instead when the King comes to kneel and sits right by his side.

"Nana, my sweet, _sweet_ , Nana," Renjun pleads for something none of them know of, holds both of Jaemin's hands in his own.

"I am your _Prince_ . Even if I was to be nothing, I would still want to be _your_ Prince." So swears the King and Jaemin chuckles. Words. So laughable truly, especially when they are like this. Too little and too late.

_Would your being my prince and my prince only, save me?_

"Congratulations on your upcoming marriage, My Prince." Envy is a bitter, bitter thing and leaves a taste thousands of times worse than Jaemin's flowers of death, blood, and bile.

He leaves before the prince gets another word in.

🌸

He goes to the healer one last time. 

He goes to ask a favour forbidden.

"I want you to save me for my brothers." He tells her, giving her a bag full of all that he has ever saved in this life. "Give the King but a drop of me." 

She smiles with tears twinkling in her eyes, returns his bag, holds his hand. "Then come with a lack of invitations." She tells him, and he needs not to be told twice.

  
  


Jaemin sees a moon gate when she grants him his favour. On the other side his brothers stand, stretching out their hands. By the time he places his hands in theirs, he sees four more shadows of people, and one of them looks like someone he once loved.

Whom did he love?

He sees himself reflected from a mirrored wall, sees himself in clothes he has never seen before. They stand on something with wheels, wobbly and surreal. 

Some sort of melody begins, and Jeno and Jisung smile at him.

  
  
  


The King marries his betrothed. Brings down lightning from the heavens on a bed of striped flowers.

🌸

Renjun is older now — years older in body, and much, _much_ wiser in mind. He has a wife, and a beautiful child that he loves with all of him. He is the King of his province. But something about his Nana makes him feel like a young boy all over again. 

A young boy feeling the flutters of first love in his belly.

He looks at Jaemin sitting in a bed of red carnations, looking so beautiful in the vermilion rays of the setting sun, veiling his face like a goddess bashful, like his smile is a reward only few deserve to see. 

That is the truth if nothing else.

There are petals playing hide and seek in between Jaemin's hair, _red rose, are they?_ Renjun does not bother wondering. He watches the ethereal beauty close his eyes and breathe in deeply, smiling for some reason before he exhales.

"Are you going to keep staring, Your Highness?" His voice is a deep, smooth hum that tastes like wine and smoke and sweetness to Renjun's ears. He sounds infinitely teasing, and Renjun feels his cheeks warm with equal parts affection and fire.

Jaemin still looks like he hasn't aged a day after he turned eighteen, and Renjun marvels at how absolutely bewitching his entire being is — even after _all_ of these years. And Renjun is _married_ , _has a child_ that he loves more than anything in the world. But if Jaemin so much as even asked, Renjun would still leave this all behind to burn.

And regret _nothing_.

"You are so, so beautiful." Renjun tells him, sincere like he never will be with someone else. His smile brings an identical one of Jaemin's lips, and everything feels alright again.

Jaemin chuckles at the praise, shy and loved and gorgeous. He runs his fingers across the red carnations blooming around him, cheeks the same colour as those while he avoids Renjun's gaze to smile to himself. 

Renjun watches him. Watches him as he always has. His beautiful Nana with his kindness, with his forever expanding compassion, and unending love for the people around him, and the flowers, and the animals and everything that has life in it — he is unbelievably unreal. 

_God made Jaemin and put the world to rest,_ Renjun likes to think.

Renjun comes out of his thoughts when he feels Jaemin. A feather light touch on the back of his hand, milky pale fingers dancing along his veins. And he is so close to him, _so close_. Renjun can smell the roses in his hair, the carnations that his fingers toyed with, can almost taste him on his lips.

"Dance with me, Your Highness." whispers Jaemin, cheeky and charming and enchanting, with his twinkling eyes and rosy mouth, and a nose the tip of which has always made Renjun want to nuzzle into it, to give it a loving press of his lips.

Renjun takes his hand, and pushes at the ground with his free hand to stand up. Jaemin smiles in that absolutely breathtaking way of his that he always has, with a tilt of his head, and Renjun will never not lament his status more.

He could have had a life with him. He could have loved him. He could have married him, _could've married him for love_ , and not have had half a care about politics.

Jaemin takes his other hand, his fingers gentle and a little cold, but nothing unwelcome. Renjun stares at his fingers resting on the other's, loving the way they look and feel. Because they feel so, so right and so, so real. 

Jaemin, as if he catches onto his train of thought, giggles under his breath and brings their twined hands to his waist. Renjun falters for a moment, but Jaemin is right there, fingers strengthening Renjun's hold around him. 

Renjun presses softly into the flesh that gives under his fingers, as though Jaemin is made of clouds and softness, cool to the touch like a gentle breeze.

"I thought we were past this skirting around each other, my Prince." Jaemin is playful, jiving, and hearing him call him _his prince_ — like he always has, like he used to, even after he was crowned king — it releases a river of warmth inside Renjun, one that starts from his belly and flows into his whole person. He feels like being bathed by the sun.

"We are. I would never hesitate with you, _never_ again." Renjun is honest, so, _so_ truthful. _So, so regretful_. He tilts his chin up and looks at his Nana, and sees nothing but love simmering in those eyes.

"Then touch me, my Prince." Jaemin urges him, coy, inviting, and lovely, with his mouth curved in a grin and his long, long lashes caressing his cheeks every time he blinks. How could Renjun ever refuse?

He hums, then wraps his arm around Jaemin's waist, who blushes and closes his eyes and rests his forehead against his.

"You're a vision." Renjun murmurs, reverence lining every note, eyes closed and nose brushing Jaemin's softly. His fingers tighten around the other's fingers, Renjun sucks in a deep breath as Jaemin begins to sway them both.

They dance to the sounds of the nocturne, insects chirping and twittering, the quiet whistling of the wind. Jaemin hums something, half a melody, and Renjun completes it with something of his own. Jaemin's hand on his shoulder slowly makes its way to the back of Renjun's neck, gentle as they play with the soft, long hair at his nape.

Soon enough, the sky above them is clear and full of stars and constellations, the moon casting an otherworldly glow on Jaemin, and Renjun stares. His eyes are only for Jaemin, and he needs to watch no sky for his guiding light is right here. In front of him, in his arms, looking at him with dark eyes and an elysian smile.

They dance some more, and even longer, until the final chime of the night, and when Jaemin moves to pull away and leave, Renjun stops him by his hands, his breath, a kiss.

Jaemin smiles. Bends until his lips touch Renjun's ears. Whispers something meant only for them to hear. Renjun smiles, palm splayed on the back of Jaemin's neck, thumb rubbing in warm circles into the skin.

" _Outside of this garden, you belong with them..._ " says he, voice deep, warm like fresh honey. In no way does it help douse the fires setting Renjun's whole self ablaze. With love, longing, and anguish. 

" _Inside here, you're mine and mine alone_." Renjun finds himself unable to do anything but nod. How do you respond to the truth that is the truth here, there, and in every universe to exist?

He shivers then, as Jaemin's words settle into him, cool as chill of the night, feather-light as they caress his skin. 

"I'm only yours, as you're only mine." He whispers, knowing that Jaemin will leave soon, knowing that he'll have to, too. "Inside here, everywhere." He promises, hands scrambling to intertwine themselves with the other's. Jaemin interlaces their fingers and gives a soft squeeze before he steps away.

"I'm afraid our time is up for the night, Your Highness." Jaemin smirks, one corner of his mouth curving close to his eye. His hands are clasped behind his back as he bends forward a bit to tease Renjun, who swallows sadly and nods in understanding.

"I will be taking my leave, then." Renjun smiles, far away from his voice that remains small and defeated; he gives in without much of a fight. Being King has aged him before his years — not that it hadn't even when he was the crown prince, but things are different now. Life is harder, almost.

"Come find me tomorrow, my Prince." Renjun can hear him smiling through his eyes closed. His heart twinges with pain, pain, pain. "I'll be here, and yours, always."

Jaemin fades away, away, away. Into the dark until his prince cannot see him anymore.

Moments later, Renjun follows.

Somewhere close to the palace, lightning strikes the ground.

From a clear, cloudless sky.

  
  


🌸

When History talks of him, they'll call Renjun Huang a great king. Better yet, they'll call him a _good man_ . They'll speak of him fondly, telling tales of how different he was from them all, how absolutely good of heart and intentions — a prince who never imagined he'd be crowned, _becoming_ the _crown prince_ after his older brother left the life of royalty to be with the person he loves, eventually going on to become the _King_ he never imagined he could be.

History will tell tales of how the King did the most for his people than any other of his bloodline had before him. 

They will whisper of how the King never fully recovered from the passing away of a close _friend_. They'll talk of how the King passed away soon after his son's coronation, just after the boy turned twenty-one; leaving behind him a legacy of freedom for love. 

History will never talk of the King loving a kitchen boy who coughed out carnations for him, red like the blood that he would one day choke upon. They'll never talk about the boy being buried in a secret garden where eternally blooming carnations would sprout out of nowhere, only _days_ after the burial.

They'll talk of how everyone had deemed the King as crazy when they'd found him conversing with nothing but thin air on countless occasions. When he'd spend hours and hours in a secret garden hidden somewhere within the orchards, talking to and laughing with no one apparent, sitting surrounded by a bed of red carnations in perpetual bloom.

They'll never talk of the King being unable to find love with the one that he had to marry because his heart never beat for another again. They won't talk of the tomb of the King in the palace's secret garden that only few were allowed to know of.

History will never talk of love because they never will know. They won't ever speak of _their_ love because they wouldn't _ever_ know what it had been. They won't ever be privy to the experiences that the people shared between them, much less of the magic within.

Try all they might, History will never be more than paper and ink.

  
  


🌸

  
  


_Centuries later, the palace will still stand. With its pillars and hallways and balconies, with its wood and gold, its cotton and silk, proud and majestic and regal as always._

_Centuries later, the Kingdom might just be forgotten — the tales of the people falling into oblivion, someday — but the walls will forever hear soft murmurings of love._

_The moon will still shine for a dance._

  
  


🌸

  
  
  


_(in dreams, i meet you in warm conversation_

_and time is taking its sweet time erasing you._

_we had a beautiful, magic love there_

_what a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.)_

_(tell me you love me_

_come back and haunt me.)_

**Author's Note:**

> so here we are. i really hope you liked this.
> 
> if you made it here, then you know that you always will be my moon and i love and thank you so much for giving anything i write, a chance and therefore, some of your time. i wish happiness, good health (mental and physical), and safety upon you. ❤
> 
> \- 💘


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